Entry

The white fog is settling low on the ground between the trees; the browning leaves are
moist with morning dew. The late autumn air is still—quiet and unmoving—and
chilling to the bone. But the faint reddish hue growing in the eastern sky makes promise
that this will soon change. It is unlikely though that you’ll be able to see it,
for your destination lies just across the clearing.

At first glance the structure looks rather unremarkable. The square, gray blocks of stone
making up the bulk of the rectangular shape are covered in yellow-green lichen. The
number of balconies facing the rising sun is balanced by an even number opposite. And the
dark wooden roof is nearly hidden behind the three-step wall. Yet upon closer scrutiny
there seems to be a faint magic to it. A pale glow, like moonlight over a deep lake, is
scarcely noticeable against the brightening sky. The two obsidian statues depicting
dancing, female elves and standing to flank the large double doors seem strangely
ethereal and yet, somehow, almost alive.

Approaching the entry across the wet grass you notice a shadow of movement and a glimmer
of red eyes at one of the unlit windows. They know you are here. This is proven even more
when the doors creak open as you near. In the opening stands a comely woman—a child
really—short of stature, crowned in long, white hair and possessed of the elegance
of her elven ancestors. But unlike the fair folk her skin is blacker than a starless
night, marking her a drow. With a ready smile on her dark lips and a joyful sparkle in
her red eyes she greets you. “Welcome,” she says in a voice sweet as evening
dew, “welcome to the Chosen of Eilistraee.”